My sun, my stars

You ask why I stay
When all that I feel
Is terror,
Enshrouded
By the tenebrous shadow of uncertainty,
And I tell you:
Too many children cower
At the monsters in the darkness,
And hide their faces
From the glory of the stars.
But to have starry eyes,
And disregard the night,
Which,
Sure as the seasons,
Will always come,
Will leave a man blind,
As if his face, too,
Was buried in a blanket.
It is the velvet blackness
That implores the stars to burn,
And those constellations,
Brilliant against that backdrop,
Mark the map
To lead me through to morning;
That I might follow Polaris
Across the sky
To the very edge of the world,
Where the sweet November sun
Will rise once more.

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